Daily National Intelligencer

COLUMBIA'S shores are wild and wide,
Columbia's hills are high,
And rudely planted, side by side.
Her forests meet the eye;
But narrow must those shores be made
And low Columbia's hills.
And low her ancient forests laid.
Ere freedom leaves her fields;
For 'tis the land where rude and wild.
She play'd her gambols when a child.
And deep and wide her streams that flow
Impetuous to the tide.
And thick and green the laurels grow
On every river's side.
But should a trans-atlantic host
Pollute her waters fair,
We'll meet them on the rocky coast
And gather laurels there;
For O! Columbia's sons are brave,
And free as ocean's wildest wave.
The gale that waves her mountain's pine
Is fragrant and serene,
And never clearer sun did shine,
Than lights her vallies green;
But putrid must those breezes blow;
The sun must set in gore,
Ere footsteps of a foreign foe,
Imprint Columbia's shore;
For O! her sons are brave and free.
Their breasts beat high with liberty.
For arming boldest cuirassier,
We have mines of sterling worth
For sword and buckler, spur and spear
Embowell'd in the earth;
But ere Columbia's sons resign
The boon their fathers won,
The polish'd ore from every mine
Shall glitter in the sun,
For bright's the blade and sharp the spear
Which freedom's sons to battle bear.
Let Britain boast the deeds she's done,
Display her trophies bright,
And count the laurels bravely won
In well contested fight;
Columbia can a band display
Will wrest that laurel wreath
With truer eye and steadier hand
Will strike the blow of death.
For, whether on the land or sea,
Columbia's fight is victory
Let France in blood through Europe wade
And in her frantic mood,
In civil discord draw the blade,
And spill her children's blood;
Too dear the skill in arms was bought,
Where kindred life-blood flows;
Columbia's sons were only taught
To triumph o'er their foes,
And then to comfort, sooth and save
The feelings of the conquer'd brave.
Then let Columbia's eagle soar
And bear her banners high,
And thunder from her dexter pour,
And lightning from her eye,
And when she sees from realms above
The storm of war is spent,
Descending like the welcome dove
The olive branch present,
And then will beauty's hand divine
The never fading wreath entwine.